Graham's Story
by Grahamatica-Fantasmica
Summary: What was Graham's life like BEFORE the Elusives? It wasn't all glitz and glamour as it may have seemed at first glance. Find out what caused her constant horrible black-outs brought on by a dark conspiracy, haunting her with its cruel secrets...
1. Chapter 1: Graham's Morning

GRAHAM'S STORY

(What was life like for our little supernova BEFORE the Elusives'?)

(Please note that this particular story is in the view-point of Graham…)

Beep-beep! The endless drone of the Monday morning alarm clock… Oh, joy. Forget the fact that Graham had barely gotten any sleep last night, oh no, she was just too worried to care. And that particular worry was exactly what had caused her to miss 6 out of 9 hours of sleep last night, but whatever…

It was the first day of school, wheeee… And Graham got to be the single model of her brand-new wardrobe! This, she was mega excited about. It was an uber-keen mix of her own line of duds she made herself at her state-of-the-art sweatshop, i.e. the corner of her large room where her humongous sewing machine was. But most of the clothes were just paid for by her mother's super-exclusive black AmEx, and it never failed to buy her whatever her heart desired, nor her mother's, for that matter.

Graham swung her long, bare legs over the side of her bed and stuffed her bare feet into her fuzzy purple slippers. She was wearing a matching purple-and-white striped nightgown that had three-quarter sleeves and a very, very short hemline. Rubbing the sleepies out of her eyes and yawning until she heard her jaw crack, Graham slammed a fist down on her alarm clock to shut it up, and she shuffled sleepily into her own personal bathroom. Everyone in her house had one, but hers was, by far, the best.

Why; with its gold-and-purple diamond tiled floors; shower curtains that showed a lavender sky with silver clouds; and a matching flower-embroidered curtain over the only window; plus a huge empress-style mirror coated with mini lights on top and edged in real silver; and the real Persian rugs in every shade of cream on the floor; and a solid copper laundry hamper; and her pure gold shower nozzles decorated in real opals—her birthstone--; and her own lavender, silver, white, and grey towels monogrammed in her initials and her motto: Thea Anthas (Divine Flower)… This all added up to one pretty swell bathroom. And Graham the Divine Flower would have it no other way.

Graham stayed in the center of the bathroom and turned in a full 360-degree circle, fully admiring her sweet bathroom hook-up. She was the only girl in town who had a separate shower and bath tub set apart. She was also the only girl in town who had a full octagon-shaped bedroom with eight corners each big enough to fit a double king-sized bed against. She was the only girl in town who even owned a double king-sized bed… which she called a "Goddess-sized bed" because of its size.

She was probably the only girl in town who got up at 3:30 a.m. each morning—sometimes earlier—to train, and practice, and rehearse, and work-out… or whatever else you want to call it, yadda yadda blah.

Graham flicked off her overhead bathroom lighting and turned on her mirror lights. She changed into a one-piece gold sweat suit with short-shorts on bottom connected to a sleeveless hoodie number on top. On the front embroidered in shimmery grey text was a giant number 14 (her lucky number); and on the back written in the same shimmery grey was her full name, "Graham Ophelia Methius". Then Graham brushed her tangled hair back into a low bun at the nape of her neck and held her bangs out of her face with a gold bandana.

Graham looked at herself long and hard in the mirror. She looked at herself for so long and so hard that her image began swimming before her lavender eyes. Everything got blurry, and before she realized what was happening, she was subconsciously thrust back into the past…


	2. Chapter 2: Graham's Flashback

Chapter 2:

Graham's Flashback

"Daddy, Daddy!" a little girl cried, running on chubby little legs to her father. Her father turned and offered a twinkly-eyed smile as he bent down and held out his arms. Young Graham ran into them and her father picked her up and swung her around, giving her a fierce yet gentle bear hug.

"There's my little girl!" he laughed into her precious lavender eyes, which were sparkling with amusement and pent-up energy. She stuck a slobbery knuckle into her mouth and pumped her chubby little legs in the air.

"Daddy, guess what?" the two, almost three-year-old baby Graham said in a rushed, slurred way; her tiny fist the size of a golf ball still stuffed halfway in her mouth.

"What, precious?" her father asked in a baby voice.

"My birthday is in this many weeks!" baby Graham squealed in excitement, holding up 9 fingers, "I'll be thwee yahs ol'!" baby Graham giggled, mispronouncing the words, "three years old".

Her father laughed, "Yes, you certainly will be 3-years-old, won't you, Graham Ophelia?"

Baby Graham ignored this. Her huge light purple eyes trained on her mother, who had just walked through that room to get to the hall that led to the kitchen. Baby Graham began beating her tiny fists against her father's chest, as softly as dust balls, and pumping her little chubby bare legs harder.

"Down, Daddy, down! I gotta go tell Momma now! Down!" Baby Graham said urgently in her adorable high-pitched baby voice. She squirmed and writhed to get her father to let go of her.

"Alright, Graham!" her father sighed, setting her down gently at his feet. No sooner had her designer Baby Marc Jacobs winter white laced knee-high booties touched the ground did Graham take off running to her mother as fast as her designer Baby Marc Jacobs winter white laced knee-high booties would carry her.

Graham toddled into the kitchen after her mother in the sort of headlong dash of babies that made it hard for them to stop running. Indeed, Graham needed to run into her mother's calf and grab onto her mother's floor-length deep violet queen-style Versace dress with a deep plunging V-neckline to steady herself.

Graham's mother, Oridana, looked down at her toddler daughter— at this time her only daughter—with the purest look of utter disgust. But Graham didn't know the difference, so she continued tugging on her mother's gown anyway, getting the 1,200-dollar piece of clothing all in disarray.

"Momma, Momma!" Baby Graham called up to her mother, as if she couldn't see her mother looking right at her.

"Yesss… Ophelia… What is it?" her mother hissed impatiently, a strained smile on her face.

Baby Graham just blinked when she heard Oridana call her by her middle name. When Graham was born, her mother and father argued over what to name her. Oridana wanted to take after her mother and name all of her daughters an "O" name. But Graham's father wanted to name his first-born daughter something "spunky and unique and… out there!", so he proposed they name her "Graham".

But Oridana was stuck on naming her "Ophelia". So her father thought up a compromise: Oridana could refer to their daughter as "Ophelia" as much as she wished, but the daughter would be known as "Graham" to everyone else.

"Momma! Guess what?" Baby Graham said excitedly to Oridana, giving the fistful of dark violet silk another tug with each word.

Just as Oridana was opening her mouth to hiss "What?" once again, the phone rang. A maid rushed over to get it. She said, "Hello?" in her hurried French accent and then waited no more than a couple seconds for an answer before handing the phone to Oridana; who answered, quite briskly, "Yes." Not a question, but a command to speak faster lest the caller lose Oridana's attention.

After a pause, Oridana's expression softened slightly, "Oh, hello, Nancy," her mother said in a pleasant-enough tone, and then started chatting idly about Nancy's 15-year-old daughter making the Pom Squad and her niece getting married next winter.

Baby Graham did not really appreciate her mother ignoring her. Giving her mother's expensive designer gown another firm tug, she screeched,

"Mom-MA!"

Oridana did not flinch. She simply asked Nancy to please hold a moment, handed the heavy old-fashioned green rotary phone to the same black-haired cat maid who had first answered it, and called loudly,

"Where is the girl's nursemaids?! Where are Ophelia's nursemaids?!"

Three live-in nursemaids (who took care of Baby Graham since obviously her parents, especially her mother, didn't give a hoot about her most times and wouldn't be caught dead taking care of Baby Graham themselves) rushed in like a flock of birds. One was only 16-years-old, a young and clumsy cat girl, working with them from early summer to early fall each year in hopes of one day affording college. Another was about 30 or some-odd years old, a very large and round cat woman, but also very kind who loved to snuggle with Baby Graham at bed time each night. The last was an old cat lady with grey hair and a wrinkled face and hands.

Baby Graham's three nursemaids came over to Graham. The large, robust, kind nursemaid picked Baby Graham up and whisked her away from mother while the elderly nursemaid forced miniature brownies into Baby Graham's shocked and offended mouth and the clumsy young nursemaid attempted to calm her down and prevent crying and temper tantrums by brushing her long, bushy striped tail.

Baby Graham was a smart baby girl. She knew what they were trying to do, so she complied, for now. Baby Graham pretended to be content being waited on and fussed over. She pretended to enjoy her mini brownies a lot more than she actually did enjoy them; and she pretended to be a lot more relaxed than she actually was with the clumsy young nursemaid brushing her tail. But Baby Graham was far from sated. She absolutely hated when her mother did this to her.

Baby Graham faked a cute and innocent smile at her three nursemaids, who in turn cooed over how cure she was with brownie bits all over her face. But Baby Graham was feeling very cranky inside. Underneath her white designer Baby Dior day gown embroidered with pink roses, her heart beat angrily.

Graham stared loathingly back at her mother, who now had her back turned to the retreating baby and her nursemaids, carelessly chatting on the phone again. Though Baby Graham's nursemaids paid her lots of mind, none of them noticed the changes coming over Baby Graham once more. None of them noticed her eyes light up from their usual shade of pretty lavender to a bright, pupil-less yellow; nor did they notice her body emanating an extremely faint blue-gold light energy.

Besides… it was gone almost as quickly as it had come.


	3. Chapter 3: Graham's Training

Chapter 3:

Graham's Training

Graham came out of the flashback much quicker and much more abruptly than she had gone into it. She looked up, startled, and realized that she was on her knees, kneeling over the sink, her arms slung over the water spigot and the black marble countertop. She glanced at her silver-and-crystal Tiffany watch. Good. Only seven minutes had past. Sometimes when Graham blacked out like that, as much as two or more hours past for the shortest of flashbacks.

Graham positively hated these random black outs in which she viewed a seemingly insignifigant scene from her past, which had previously been tucked away into the darkest recesses of her finely-tuned mind. But that's what happens when… Well, what happened all those years ago…

"NO!" Graham shouted at her reflection in the mirror, standing upright now. Her shout punctured the still silence in the rest of the sleeping house.

"No…." Graham whispered this time, "Don't go back there. It's all just a memory. Just a cruel secret of your past. No one but you knows, Thea Anthas… let's keep it that way…" Graham was shivering now. She splashed cold water on her face and then dried it slowly, willing herself to forget again.

Graham threw the grey hand towel into her heavy solid copper laundry hamer and banged it shut, denting it a little. The dent only proved that it was real copper, though, so Graham didn't really mind it.

She left the bathroom and flicked off the lights in her room.

_Forget again, Graham. C'mon hotshot… __forget__! FOR-__**GET**__!_ Graham though furiously as she closed her bedroom door silently. She was willing herself to forget so hard that by the time she was unlocking the door to her own small personal gym (in a soundproof corner of the house, of course) with her own personal keycard… she had forgotten what it was exactly she was supposed to be forgetting.

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"C'mon, hotshot, you can hit harder than that, can't ya?" Graham mumbled to herself. She was in her won little personal work-out area, going a couple rounds with the black Everlast-brand boxing league punching bag. Whenever she worked out, Graham rally-cried herself by mocking her coach/personal trainer.

Her black-and-gold rose-embroidered Everlast boxing gloves were custom made with actual diamonds infused in the cuffs and her initials ("G.O.M.") in between each glittering diamond. Her custom gloves were blazing up the bag; punching as hard as she could, Graham didn't pause in between rounds. Normally she would've but today she felt as if she had a bit extra steam to work off. She figured that it was probably just the excitement from it being her very first day at school, her very first day as a sophomore at Amyklai Institute… the most prestigious private high-school for wealthy boys and girls on the outskirts of Station Square. And, it was the most expensive. But that certainly wasn't a problem for a Methius.

"Left jab, left jab, right jab, left again…" Graham recited breathlessly to herself as she put her words into actions. She was going faster and hitting harder than ever, and she wasn't exactly sure why… She was almost one hundred percent positive it wasn't because of the excitement… What else could it be?

"Left again, right again, left again, right hook, pivot, right again… Yes! That side hits better!" Graham pivoted on her right foot and hit the bag with a right hook again.

"Pivot, pivot, right hook, left hook, left jab, right jab, left hook, pivot, about-face, half-turn, and…!" Graham whirled around, hoping a bit off the ground, and wound up for a final punch.

"Yeah!" she cried as it connected, a hit so hard it made the bag swing as far back on its chains as it could. Graham laughed aloud and twirled out of the way before the bag could swing back and knock her into the far wall.

"Good job today, flower," Graham said to herself, wiping the sweat off her brow and panting considerably, "Take off the gloves, it's time to put in some real work!" Graham muttered to herself in her trainer Julius' deep, gruff voice.

Graham peeled off her big bulky gloves and bound her knuckles in yellow knuckle binds.

"Alright, jewel, show me some of that martial arts!" Graham muttered.

No sooner had the words left her mouth did she run up to the punching bag, now still, and started pelting it. Hit after hit, hip checks and elbow strikes, shoulder strikes, up and out, thighs and knees, rake fist and karate punches. (Graham favored the rake fist overall, but karate hits were sometimes stronger in some combination scenarios.)

Graham whirled away from the bag, dancing, going through all sorts of martial arts forms, incorporating dance-like styles into it all. She simply loved doing this. She really did. Perhaps that is why she did it every morning, as early as 3:30 a.m. or sometimes even as early as 3 o'clock!

Graham leaped into the air, curled into a ball, righted herself in the air, and then landed in a sliding splits. It was fluid, it was perfect, and it was flawless, much as Graham considered herself, in fact,

Graham went through this for about forty or so minutes. Then she did a few in-between stretches. After she was re-loosened up a bit and had caught her breath, she proceeded to run five full miles on her treadmill with two tiny five-pound weights in her hands. After the 5-mile run she did her flexibility routine, this time stretching merely to improve her already stellar flexibility.

Then, Graham moved on to the aerobic exercises: such as push-ups, sit-ups, crunches, leg lifts, planks, mountain climbers, bicycles, chin-ups, pull-ups, accordions, and squats.

After this "traditional work-out" was complete. She went over to the weights, where she did only 10 reps of 10 on everything, because she was constantly afraid of becoming too manly, too ripped, or too buff.

Graham collapsed into a heap on her treadmill, as she usually did when she was finished with her two-hour plus daily morning work-out. Graham turned her sweating head a bit to the right and saw that her huge, flashy, black-and-silver stereo system with two huge speakers was still blasting "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns and Roses, the third-to-last song on Graham's personalized "Work-out Tracks" CD. Graham searched LimeWire and iTunes for a whole Saturday afternoon a few years ago (when her parents had first decided to renovate a tiny private gym for her) to find a bunch of songs to burn onto a CD. This CD she would use strictly for her daily morning work-out sessions; and it contained the perfect mix of pounding, exciting songs just for her to use to get her adrenal glands goind. There was everything from "Hot and Cold" by Katy Perry to "Last Angel" by Koda Kumi; "Womanizer" by Britanny Spears to "Girls Just Want To Have Fun" by Cyndi Lauper; and about every Black Eyed Peas song in existence.

"Welcome to the Jungle" ended abruptly and some hyper techno-pop mix Graham forgot the name of started, the catchy staccato beat exactly matching the frantic rhythm of her hyper-drive beating heart.

Graham drank deeply from a bottle of light pink-tinted Glaceau water while simultaneously squirting her pink-and-sweaty face with a fine mist from a small spray bottle of Evian Face Mist purified mineral water.

After allowing herself only three minutes of rest, Graham pulled herself up and walked out of the room, flicking off the lights and the stereo, but leaving the doors unlocked so the maid or somebody could come later and clean it all up.

Graham trudged exhaustedly back to her bathroom where she locked the door for ultimate privacy. Her shower was awesome, it had a "Pre-set Perfect Temperature" feature so all she had to do was press a button and step in, and the knobs turned themselves.

She peeled off her sweat-soaked Monday morning work-out clothes and stuffed those into the solid copper laundry hamper, which the maids would probably empty out later.

Graham stepped into the shower and washed with her lavender-vanilla body wash, washing her hair with Suave Ocean Breeze. Suave was a little low-class but hey… Graham's hair was so perfect it didn't need super-luxe high-quality salon-league shampoos and conditioners. Plus, her hair was so thick, Suave was the only shower hair product that she could use that was also strong enough so that it would make her hair smell nice… her thick curls would absorb any other product too thoroughly.

Graham was done preparing for school in forty-five minutes. It took her half that time to blow-dry and flat-iron her hair into a straight, silky-smooth sheen. But she was an expert at applying her make-up, (today it was fully winged-out liquid black eyeliner, black mascara, lavender eye shadow with a touch of pink in the crease, pink blush on her cheekbones, and tannish nude lip gloss), and the last thing she needed to do was pick out her clothes.

Graham never picked out her clothes ahead of time, so she stood in her fluffy towel with her face and hair made up all nice, pondering over her choices. Of course her wardrobe was so vast, her closet took up almost half of her bedroom.

"What would be perfect for my first day back?" Graham tapped her lower sharp bicuspids, pondering. Suddenly, "AH!" she exclaimed, throwing up her hands and rushing into the closet.

From her closet she selected a very short silver mini flapper skirt with built-in white under shorts; and a silver top that was just like a sequined bikini top with bits of fabric criss-crossing at the torso.

"Perfection!" Graham said to her reflection in the full-length 360-degree mirror. "But its not enough. It's missing something… Yes! Accessories!" she said breathlessly.

Dashing to her accessories bureau , she selected some silver elbow and wrist bands that connected with criss-crossing patterns of silver fabric, making diamond patterns in her skin. She also dug out some silver fishnet leggings that had knee pads and pink sequins. She also found these shoulder-length drop dangle silver chandelier earrings that were in tiers of 5. There were diamonds infused in the tiers and they were pure elegance. She was lucky enough to find a matching 12-tier necklace infused with tiny diamonds, as well, and a silver-and-diamond ring to go on each of her fingers, so she was matching all around.

"_Now, _its perfection…"Graham whispered, puckering her lips and striking silly posts in thewrap-around mirror. Grahampulled on some silver knee-high combat boots on her way out the door of her bedroom.

Walking down the hallway, her heavy designer boot's dull thumps muffled by the thick beige Prussian carpeting Graham tossed her long, dark brown chocolate hair over her shoulder and practiced her strut into the school.

Since it was nearing six o'clock in the morning, everyone else was up and bustling about as well. Every maid and housekeeper and butler she passed either bowed or curtsied and greeted her with the usual, "Good morning, Ms. Graham." or "Hello, Ms. Methius."

For some odd reason, her mother, Oridana, made it so all of the butlers and the chaugger and the gardener and the aquarium keeper were all male, and all British. All of the female help: the maids, housekeepers, waitresses, pet keepers… they were all French and talked in these prissy, high-pitched, snipped little voices. The only exception was the chef and the chef's apprentice… they were both male and French.

"Oh! Good morning, Ms. Graham!" called one of those high-pitched French-accented voices. Graham knew immediately who it was before she even turned around. She could tell by the way her words tumbled like rocks or pebbled down a landslide, and her French was even harsher.

Graham turned and smiled at Raquelle, the short, petite, fragile-framed mouse maid who was barely old enough to not be considered a child. Being only 4 inches taller and way thinner than Graham, she was about the only maid that she felt comfortable around. Raquelle was also only twenty-years-old, four years older than Graham.

"Raquelle," Graham said affectionately, offering a soft, twinkly-eyed smile.

Raquelle rushed up and enveloped Graham in a hug, then said in her harsh, rushed native language, "Ami peu, ne tu air juste etourdir pas?" she gushed, complimenting Graham's outfit.

Graham laughed aloud when she translated it in her head. Once again, Raquelle had messed up.

"Je ne! Je ne, ne je pas?" Graham agreed, striking a silly pose and pretending to be haughty and full of herself.

"Tu ne!" Raquelle assured quickly, excitedly.

"Remerciements! Merci beacoup!" Graham said "Thanks! Thank you very much!" in French, turning a tad pink at these shamlessly gushing compliments.

"Ces't vrai! Ferait je mensonge a vous?" Raquelle asked non-seriously, hands on her hips.

Graham pretended to ponder over this, then said,

"Only if you wish to be fired!" then she laughed.

Raquelle froze in terror. It took Graham a moment to realize. Then she said, "Only joking", with a small eye-roll.

Raquelle did not notice. She just smiled of relief and took Graham by the shoulders.

"Your mother sent me to tell you she is waiting for you in the kitchen. You must hurry, Ms. Graham, for Mistress Oridana does not seem to be in a very pleasant mood this morning…" Raquelle warned, then turned away and tottered off somewhere.

"When is she ever?" Graham mumbled to her shoes. Then she turned and headed towards the kitchen to find her mother.


End file.
